The Depths of the Hollow (Mercy Falls Mythos Book 2)

by Nathaniel Reed

  “But you said...” Mary started.

  “I know what I said, but I think Julia may be right. A baby complicates things.”

  “But don’t you want to have a baby sometime?”

  “You know I do. That’s not the question.”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, I know. Do we have the right to keep it?”

  “Yes,” Pete agreed, “That question.”

  “And I don’t know the answer to that. All I know is I want to take care of it,” Mary said, “It’s like I feel obligated somehow.”

  “I know you do, and that’s one of the things I adore about you- how big hearted you are. We will have to make a decision in the morning, and it may not be the one you like.”

  “All right,” Mary acquiesced, pouting.

  “I love you,” Pete said, kissing her on the lips.

  “Love you too,” she said, still pouting.

  “I’m not saying no,” Pete said, “but we have to see if anyone is looking for him.”

  “Okay.”

  

  It took them half an hour once they were done feeding off the boy Lucas to realize that their sacrifice was gone. Drained, Lucas Pratt lay lifeless, and the robed, hooded things that still looked like men and women were satiated, full of energy. But now they were also filled with anger.

  The vampires flung off their hoods, snarling and crying out as they sniffed the air. The newborn’s scent was gone, taken away. Only the lingering remnants of its tears remained. Their ritual would have to go unfinished.

  “Svetlana!” one of them called. The woman who had held the baby stepped forward.

  “Yes?”

  “Get the van! We shall have to wait until the next full moon.”

  “Yes Kristoff, right away.” They spoke in Russian, nine in all- six men and three women, all with strong Russian features. They did a quick burial of the boy, a foot beneath the dirt, using loose soil and shrub; not out of any respect, but to be certain they wouldn’t be traced back to this spot. In a day or two they’d find the body, but by then it wouldn’t matter. They’d be long gone. They loaded the urn into the van.

  Unbeknownst to them the police were already searching these woods for another beast, one that would have feasted on them in similar fashion, but left even less behind, had they not departed when they did.

  The news of the boy’s disappearance would launch another search and the distraught mother with whom Lucas Pratt lived was inconsolable when he was found, as any caring mother would be. They spared her the details on the condition of the body.

  

  Through his investigations Blake found out about Lucas Pratt and his murder in Jeremiah’s Woods. He was positive that it was vampire related, although all the papers claimed was that he was either the victim of foul play, or had been attacked by wild animals. In a sense, he thought,

  they were both right.

  Mary Crowley saw the same articles, and knew that was the night she had been there and heard the screams. There was no mention of a baby although she did find an article about a missing family. Newlyweds- an expectant mother and father, were missing for several days. Carl had been right. The mother and father had most likely been killed. The baby was to be some sort of sacrifice. Could the man she heard screaming be the father, or the boy Lucas that the main article talked about it? She had wished for the baby not to belong to anyone, and in doing so had been selfish. These were people with their whole lives ahead of them, taken in an instant.

  Pete held her while she cried. He didn’t have to ask, though they talked about it later when she’d settled down. They made a crib in their room from a cardboard box and loads of blankets for cushioning. They had forgotten to get diapers and had to get them in the morning. Mary fashioned a diaper from a hand towel and a safety pin. The four of them saw how woefully unprepared for a baby they were, though it was immediately apparent that Pete and Mary were going to be the main caregivers.

  Carl and Julia still insisted they should contact the police. There was probably family still looking for the baby. Pete and Mary hated to agree, but they had to do the right thing.

  

  The van was both transport and storage for their ritual supplies- herbs, animal parts, things both magical and mundane travelled with them. They were by nature nomads, but had settled in this town because of the strong presence of their kind, although changed dramatically after the flood of ’86. Fortunately they did not live in the pit, where much of the flooding occurred, and most of their brethren stayed. They had their own hideout, a small wood cabin deep in the woods, hidden by a thicket of trees which they could barely get their van through. They hid the van, a dark dirt brown, behind the cabin- the perfect camouflage. Long thought to be abandoned, they’d murdered the inhabitants six years ago, before Jeremiah’s Woods was considered a dangerous place to be... again. Now they had to load up on gas in plastic containers, so as not to venture out beyond the gates with their vehicle, which was when the ability to fly came in handy. Of them all, Svetlana was the only one who could not, because she was not a vampire. But she was also the only true bonafide witch in their group. She refused to be turned because she did not want to subsist on blood. They let her live because she was like family, and she taught them spells, the latter being the most important. The true reason they let her live was one they could not admit to themselves- she was too powerful.

  Her family came from a long line of witches, Russian gypsies highly skilled in the practice of both white and black magic, as well as the time honored traditions of tarot, palm reading, fortune telling, and healing. Her ancestors came to America in the early 1900s, some leaving the old ways, and others adhering to tradition. Her parents were traditionalists well versed in white magic. It wasn’t until she met Nikolai that Svetlana Kurylenko ventured into the black arts.

  Nikolai was a danger junkie, and she liked the bad boy in him. It wasn’t long before she realized that the same powers she used to help others could also be used to harm. Where she could heal, she also had the power to wound. She liked that kind of power. Things changed once again the night that she and Nikolai met the vampires.

  

  Something was up and Blake knew it. First there

  was the bold attack on the mayor’s town hall, and the mayor’s supposed escape and bizarre alibi; then the disappearance of the young couple and their baby, and the savaging of the boy in the woods. There had been another boy killed a few nights before that, although Blake did not know that it was another beast entirely. He didn’t particularly believe all the events were related, but the vampires did seem to be making themselves more noticeable, and increasing their numbers, which was the most worrisome thing.

  Blake might have gone to visit the Mayor himself, but that might put him at a great disadvantage, limiting his ability to operate covertly. Although, like Stephanie, he believed Mayor Charles Tremont was not what he seemed, it was best to remain in the shadows. He’d only come back into town after recent events seemed to indicate he might be needed again. For the most part Blake had avoided Mercy Falls since he’d left in ’86. He doubted the police were still looking for him, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He still went by the name Mark Trimble, and had the supporting documents to show that was who he was. He would eventually go by his real name, more than a decade later, when he was too old and tired to care whether he was arrested for perceived crimes he’d committed when he’d still been a middle aged man.

  

  “Um, hello? Mary, are you going to get that?” Peter was in the kitchen, fixing their lunch, while Mary was in the living room, closest to the door.

  “No,” Mary pouted. The knock came again.

  “You know we talked about this,” Pete said,

  “There’s no other choice.”

  “Right,” Mary said, rising from the couch, picking up the baby who lay next to her. She walked to the door and opened it. Mary was greeted by a thirty-something unassuming lady with close-cropped hair wearing a T
-shirt and slacks. Behind her stood a tall lanky officer in uniform, the top half of his face in shadow beneath his policeman’s cap.

  “Good afternoon ma’am.” Before Mary could respond, or the policeman could ask the lady if this was the baby in question, the woman rushed toward Mary at the sight of the child in her arms.

  “Oh my God! It is true!”

  Mary took an almost involuntary step back, and then realized that she had nothing to fear from this woman. She wasn’t here to hurt the baby.

  “That’s Ryan! That’s my sister’s baby! That’s my little nephew!” She pinched his cheeks. “Oh please, please, can I hold him?”

  “Of course,” Mary said, relinquishing the child, won over by the aunt’s excitement, and saddened by the realization that she had no right to it.

  The boy cooed and made a face that could be interpreted as a smile. The officer grinned.

  “Ma’am, may we come inside? I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

  “Yes, please,” Mary said. And the gentle, but probing interrogation began.

  

  She was living in Boston at the time that she and Nikolai visited a Russian bar that was much like home, with many drafts and spirits imported from her own home country. Svetlana was used to speaking English, but her parents only spoke Russian at home, so she could speak it fluently, and understood the clientele of the bar. Nikolai had only been in the country three years, and when he spoke English he spoke it with a heavy accent. His first

  language was Russian.

  A group of people had gathered at the bar, three males talking loudly and boisterously. The two of them were seated at one of the tables. Across from their table sat another group, two men, and a woman, at another table. They seemed to be getting annoyed with the men at the bar.

  One of the men rose from the table and confronted them. They did not appear to like this. One of the loud men spun around on his barstool, said something vulgar, and spat in the other man’s face. The man patiently wiped it off. The one on the barstool said something else in Russian, the equivalent of, “Now get the fuck out of here!” and shoved him.

  The man who’d been spat on grabbed the arm that shoved him by the wrist, and twisted it downward, breaking it with a sharp snap. White bone jutted out from the man’s forearm. Several people screamed, besides the man with the broken arm.

  Svetlana and Nikolai got up from their seats. The other two men at the bar went to attack the arm-breaker, but his friends (the other man and the girl) were already up from their table. One of the “bar” men went to attack the girl instead, grabbing both of her arms. They had no idea that she and the other two were more than adequate to defend themselves, which should have been demonstrated at least in part by the arm-breaking. Svetlana had had enough and put out her hand, recited a few words and a fireball shot out from her palm, hitting the man that had grabbed the girl on the side of his head like a flaming basketball. The side of his face was scorched black before his entire head was on fire. The remaining uninjured man from the bar went to put out the fire, and the other man from the table walloped him with an elbow to the small of his back as he was bent over.

  The rest of the people in the bar, having fled, were no longer witnesses to this spectacle. The bartender stood behind the bar with a deer in the headlights look, wondering how to get around them. The three rowdy men were on the ground. The man who’d been spat on turned to Nikolai and Svetlana, and asked her, “How did you do that?”

  “Ah,” she said in Russian, “That would be telling.”

  “Come with us,” the man said. Nikolai looked at her, uncertain. Even being the danger junkie that he was, he knew something wasn’t right.

  “Where are we going?” Svetlana asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Come,” the man said again, “It’ll be fun.” And she was up for an adventure, now that her adrenaline was pumping. They darted outside into the darkness.

  

  Mary told the officer she’d found the baby near the woods, outside the gates, crying, which was close to the truth. She had taken it home last night.

  Why hadn’t she called the police then?

  The baby was hungry and needed a diaper change. She thought she might have been pursued by whoever had left the baby. She’d heard screaming from inside the woods. That much was true.

  Why hadn’t she called for help if she thought she was in danger?

  Her friends were home, and they were trying to calm her down. She had been hysterical. That was stretching the truth.

  Pete had his hand on her shoulder, standing behind the couch where she sat. Julia and Carl were in the background, in the kitchen, listening in on the questioning.

  Well, why hadn’t they called first thing in the

  morning?

  She said something about needing to read the paper

  first. By the time it was over they were all as exhausted as they claimed to have been the night before.

  The aunt introduced herself as Clara, thanked Mary profusely for saving her niece, although her joy was bittersweet. Her sister and her brother-in-law were still missing. Mary didn’t have the heart to tell her she was sure they were dead. Especially not in front of the policeman. That would just invite another string of questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.

  Aunt Clara gave Mary her card. She worked in real estate. “Please, keep in touch Miss Crowley. If you’d ever like to visit Ryan, you are more than welcome to.”

  Mary beamed at this, “Really? Oh, please, call me Mary.”

  “Ma’am,” the policeman cautioned the aunt, “Are you sure you want to do that? We haven’t corroborated her story...”

  “Oh hogwash!” Clara said, showing her southern roots, “I know a good soul when I see one.”

  Had she known Mary was someone who’d run with a biker gang known as The Dragons at one time, and who currently hunted vampires, it might have caused her to question Mary’s good soul.

  “Thank you,” Mary said.

  “Not a problem dear,” Clara replied.

  The officer, in keeping with his brooding, said, all business, “Ma’am, we’ll be contacting you if we have any further questions.” He tipped his hat and waved it toward the others. “The same goes for the rest of you. This is an ongoing investigation.”

  

  They talked as they strolled through back alleys.

  The man who’d been spat on was Kristoff; the other man

  was Vladimir; and the woman’s name was Ilyana. They

  spoke mostly in Russian, but with a little English.

  Svetlana and Nikolai noticed that they all wore black, and dangling from their necks were chains with what looked like inverted pentagrams with a goat’s head in the center. Svetlana wondered if they belonged to some sort of religious cult or sect. These vampires would be at the Mayor’s event years later when the attack went down. Of course she didn’t know they were vampires, yet.

  “And you?” Kristoff spoke to Nikolai, “Do you do magic tricks?”

  “They’re not tricks,” Nikolai grumbled, offended.

  “Well,” Kristoff asked his friends, “Shall we show them a real trick?”

  They changed into their full-fanged glory.

  “Schlyvokk!” Svetlana exclaimed in her native tongue. They snarled.

  “You,” Kristoff said to her, “I will not kill, because you helped us with that vermin back there! But I want to see what the boy has, and if his life is worth sparing!”

  Nikolai was further offended by the use of the term “boy.” He raised his hand, mumbling some incantation, and a swarm of locusts appeared from thin air, covering the vampires in a cloud of buzzing bodies. They swatted and cursed and squashed them between their hands. They were getting caught in their hair, covering their eyes, trying to crawl into their mouths.

  “Enough?!” Nikolai shouted.

  “Yes, enough!” Kristoff shrieked.

  Nikolai clapped and the swarm dispersed, separating and flying
off.

  Kristoff looked amused, and slowly began to clap himself. “Impressive, show me more monkey boy!”

  Angry now, Nikolai said, “Fuck off! I’m leaving.” He turned his back. Svetlana stood, staring at the vamps. “Svetlana, come on,” Nikolai said, “Leave this human waste!”

  “Human?!” Kristoff shouted angrily, “We have not been human for a long time.” He rushed past Svetlana grabbing Nikolai from behind, and in one deft motion snapped his neck.

  Svetlana had never seen anyone move so quickly. Though they had shared a bed, and were somewhat more than friends, she was torn between some pretense of compassion for him, and admiration for the vampire.

  Kristoff squatted down, raising Nikolai over his knees and fed from his broken neck. The others followed suit, as he passed the dead body to Vladimir, then Ilyana. Kristoff observed Svetlana, watching her from the corner of his eye.

  “Are you going to cry Svetlana? Are you going to mourn poor Nikolai? To take your revenge?” he mocked.

  Svetlana shook her head. “No. He’s not my boyfriend. We were simply...” She searched for the words. “Practitioners of the same art.”

  “I see,” Kristoff said, nodding approvingly, “This I understand. Brotherhood. We are a brotherhood too. You should join us Svetlana.”

  “Join?”

  “The Brotherhood of the Black Hand.”

  “I don’t want to be a vampire,” she said. “I don’t want to drink blood.”

  “Fah!” Kristoff spat, “You help us, then insult us! Simply come with us Svetlana. We worship the prince of darkness, hoping that he gives us power beyond our immortal capabilities. You have power. We want very much to learn from you.”

  Svetlana nodded. “What do I get in return?”

  “Your life,” Kristoff answered.

  “You don’t scare me Vlad.”

  “I am Kristoff!” he said, pointing to the other man,